


Someday, Maybe

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-15
Updated: 2007-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Time frame: Season 3 speculation (spoilers for AHBL part 2, set three months later, assumes it took place in May)<br/></p><p>a/n: Written for <span class="ljuser"><a href="http://musesfool.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://musesfool.livejournal.com/"><b>musesfool</b></a></span>'s birthday. Much thanks to <span class="ljuser"><a href="http://innie-darling.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://innie-darling.livejournal.com/"><b>innie_darling</b></a></span> for her always thoughtful beta reading.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Someday, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Time frame: Season 3 speculation (spoilers for AHBL part 2, set three months later, assumes it took place in May)  
> 
> 
> a/n: Written for [](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/profile)[**musesfool**](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/) 's birthday. Much thanks to [](http://innie-darling.livejournal.com/profile)[**innie_darling**](http://innie-darling.livejournal.com/) for her always thoughtful beta reading.

He was in the bar for about an hour before he spotted the brunette. His beer glass was still cold in his hand, and the noise of the place had long since blended to a muddy background hum of tourist chatter and bass guitar thudding from the speakers anchored to the wooden beams of the ceiling. The place smelled of beer fumes and sweat and fried clams.

The red head had seemed interested, but when he'd returned from the bathroom, she was gone. The blonde had smiled and laughed at his jokes. It'd seemed pretty promising until the other blonde showed up and kissed her girlfriend full on the mouth, with tongue. That might have worked out spectacularly if they'd been interested, but they weren't. What was worse was the way they'd each kissed him on the cheek, while the one with bronze tips on her hair had told him, her eyes warm and bright, it was one of those moments in life when she was _almost_ sorry she didn't swing that way.

Almost. Story of his life, lately. Almost with an answer. Almost won.

It was tempting to tell them, to throw in his bid for a pity screw, but he didn't want to get it like that.

So he turned back to his beer, wondered if he could bribe the bartender to let him pick the next ten tracks on the CD player, and stared at the many pictures hanging behind the bar. One of them showed two men on a dock with a shark hanging down between them, the beast's sharp mouth gaping in death. Cool.

The brunette was seated on a stool with her back to him, one slender, muscular bare leg dangling down, the other knee bent and the heel of her sandal hooked over the cross-support of the stool. She wore green cargo shorts and a flower-print blouse that dipped low in the back, revealing tanned, smooth skin, and he hoped it went low in the front too. Wavy, dark hair hung loose, falling below her shoulders, covering up far too much skin.

He had a twinge of guilt for not settling in like Sam with a stack of demonology books. Sam had returned to the motel right after dinner; they'd come to the small seaside town to a buy a volume from a rare book dealer and Sam had seemed pretty excited about it, eyes lit with stifled hope until Dean couldn't look at him anymore.

Nine months to go, and he hated feeling useless, but Sam was better at the research thing anyway and hey, shouldn't he be allowed to have fun?

There'd been no reproach, no eyeroll, when Dean told him he was going out, don't wait up. Sam had nodded, eyes on his laptop, like it was expected, perfectly understandable.

Dean missed the eyeroll. He hated being pitied.

He slid his way over to the brunette, accidentally-on-purpose jostling her elbow so her drink sloshed.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry, here, let me--" he started his speech, snatched up a napkin, but then she turned (and the blouse was a v-neck, hallelujah), and the words died in his throat.

Her eyes widened. "Dean?"

 _Holy shit._

"Uh. Hi, Hailey."

"Oh my god," she said, her voice low. "I never expected to see you again." Her tone was hard to read, until a half-smile curved on her lips and he realized she wasn't completely horrified at the sight of him.

"How are Tommy and Ben?"

There was a moment's hesitation. "Fine. Tommy's studying abroad, I haven't seen him for six months." She said it casually, but he heard the ache in her voice. "And what about you, Dean?" It was a challenge, daring him to tell her something true, anything. She leaned close, and he got a whiff of herbal shampoo and deodorant and salty, warm skin; Dean swallowed. "You still do the hunting thing?"

"Beats a desk job." He put the napkin on the bar, watched it soak up the spilled drink.

It wasn't that there had never been girls he'd met up with more than once. There were chicks he called anytime he blew through their town.

But he suddenly didn't know what to say next, whether this was territory he could step into. If she wanted him to.

The silence dragged on and Hailey cleared her throat. "Well. I guess I'd better..." She kept her eyes down.

"Yeah. I should..." he put his beer glass on the bar and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling fourteen again. "Hailey?"

"Yes?"

"You want to get out of here?"

She cocked her head to one side. "That depends."

"On what?"

"You still have that really cool car?"

*~*~*

Hailey walked around the Impala, back straight. She moved like she could hike twenty miles in her sandals and if she got blisters, tough noogies, she'd keep going. The music from the bar was faint; the rush of the ocean across the highway was louder.

"Can I...?" She gestured with her fingers towards the chrome.

She was asking _permission_ to touch his car, with something close to the proper tone of reverence. Dean wanted to grab her, lean her back across the hood, and take her right there.

"Sure." He shrugged, and stayed off to one side as he watched her trail her fingers along the line of the roof and down the front slope of the windshield. "You only like me for my car."

"Who says I like you?" She didn't look at him, tracing the Chevrolet lettering on the front grille. Then she pulled her hand away, quick, as if she felt she'd scraped too deep, lingered too long. "My grandpa had this 1930's Plymouth," she said, folding her arms. "He gave it my father."

"Where is it now?"

"Dad sold it," she said, voice going scratchy. "Years ago."

There was a story behind the clipped words.

"Too bad," he said.

Hailey tilted her head back to look up at him, the neon sign from the bar tingeing her hair with glints of orange. "You want to take a walk?"

  


*~*~*

  
They wound up on the boardwalk, the Atlantic hissing and banging below them like some mythical monster. Dean thought of kelpies, bunyips, and mermaids with dagger-sharp teeth, beautifully murderous. This would all be easier if something unspeakable did actually lumber out of the surf and attack -- pretty good icebreaker, in his experience.

But there were no obliging monsters, only this girl who kept him on edge, wondering whether she thought he was full of shit, or thought he was full of shit but kind of charming at the same time, or thought he was really charming but bad news, or some other combination he hadn't even thought of yet.

She kept about two feet between them as they walked. "For a few weeks after the wendigo I had nightmares. So did Tommy."

"Damn. I'm sorry." What the hell else could he say? He wasn't used to this, didn't really want to know how fucked up the stuff he and Sam killed left people.

She half-smiled, let out a small laugh. "Don't be. Hell, we'd be dead if it weren't for you and Sam. The funny thing is how Ben didn't. Have nightmares, I mean. He kept comforting me and Tommy, and it was really weird. Ben was always the baby." Then the small door she'd opened closed again; he her eyes go guarded again. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

There was no way he could tell her the truth, and no way he could lie. Dean stopped and leaned his hands on the wooden railing, groping for a way out, and finally settled on part of the truth, which had seemed enough for her in Colorado. "Hunting," he said.

"Something here?" Her eyebrows went up.

"Nah. Research."

Hailey fisted her hand and knocked it against the railing for emphasis. "The forestry service found another wendigo corpse."

"What?" The wood of the railing dug into his palm and he felt the sting of a splinter. He put his hand to his mouth and sucked the edge of his palm where it had gone in.

"It was about one hundred and fifty years old." Hailey reached up and took his hand, tugging it away from his mouth, turning it over to examine his skin. "At least that's what the forensics department said. Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, crazy."

"Anyway, I did some checking." Her fingernail dug in where the splinter was and he winced. "There were some unexplained deaths in the Lost Creek area at the turn of the century, and again in the late 1950s." She pulled the splinter out and flicked it away.

"Don't you have a _job_ or something?" He said, terse. She was still holding onto his hand and showed no signs of letting go anytime soon.

"I can't have a hobby?" Her eyes glinted with humor.

"Not that one, no. What is your job, anyway?"

"My family owns an outfitter. Mom and Dad founded it."

Dean started to trace his thumb along her fingers; they were strong, worn from wind and sun, but not scarred or battered like his.

Then she kissed him. At least he was pretty damned sure she started it, not him, but later he couldn't remember exactly how it went. She traced the line of his jaw with the fingers of her free hand, while her mouth worked against his, tentative yet hungry. The contact of her tongue sent a jolt down his body.

He let go of her hand, ran his fingers down the cool, smooth line of her neck, then cradled the back of her head, his fingers burying into her dark hair. The memory-scents of pine and dank cave came back to him.

His brain started muttering _wait a second, wait a second_. Shit, nine months was long enough for him to become a dad if the condom broke, if she wasn't on the pill (although she probably was). But what if, and he'd be dead and in Hell and whoa, hey, who said he was even getting that far with her. Maybe she didn't want --

"My room?" Her voice was wry and husky in his ear.

It would be fine with him if they went onto the beach and did it on the sand, or in the car, but really, it didn't matter to him one way or the other. "Uh-huh," he murmured, his tongue in the salty hollow of her throat.

  


*~*~*

Her room wasn't in a motel, but a bed and breakfast a few miles down the road, across the highway from the ocean. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a bedroom like that, big four-poster bed and soft hand-made quilt, couch by the fireplace, gleaming brass, and watercolor prints of sand dunes and sailboats. The windows were open, white curtains moving more timid than ghosts. He figured the house had to be at least a hundred and change. He bet it was haunted, but he stopped thinking about that when Hailey pushed him against the door, her palms sliding against his skin, up under his t-shirt, as she kissed him again, all hesitation gone, only hungry now.

As his fingers went down to fumble with the button of her cargo shorts, there went his stupid brain again, blah-blah-blahing about how he should tell her before, but if he did it would turn into a pity screw at best and at worst, she'd think it was a line or that he was using it to get into her pants. If he told her after, it might hurt and anger her -- women were funny about stuff like that. She'd probably think he wasn't being honest.

Which he wasn't.

But then her shorts were open, his fingers tugging down the zipper. He put his other hand over her breast, his fingers teasing, while his other hand slipped under the lacy edge of her panties. She was hot and silky, arching against him, making only a soft, muffled whimper as he stroked her.

She started tugging at his shirt and he had to stop doing what he was doing to her so he could pull his shirt off. The mutter of _nine months left_ faded to almost nothing as she stepped out of her shorts and pulled off the blouse. The bra matched the panties, white cotton with a lacy frill; he wondered if it itched her in the heat.

When they moved to the bed, Hailey pulled back the covers with more urgency and disregard for neatness than he would have expected. When he removed his boots and socks and jeans, she glanced at him, checking to see if he'd mind, before reaching down down to undo the velcro on the holster of the hunting knife strapped to his calf. But he took the holster from her and put the knife carefully on the nightstand himself.

The breeze through the window tickled his bare skin while her fingers brushed up the inside of his thighs. She slid her body up along his, took his hands and guided them back onto her. They lay down, their hands moving over each other, exploring; she had a flower-shaped birthmark on her thigh. Her touch lingered with an unspoken question at the puckered scar on his shoulder.

Hailey let out a soft, gasping sigh as he pulled down the strap of her bra and sucked on her nipple. As his mouth moved down from her breast to her stomach, which twitched under his touch, his brain muttered again, a moment of amazement that he was doing this with Hailey Collins, who'd thrown him off balance and he wasn't supposed to see ever again. Dean concentrated on what he was doing, his mouth at her hip bone, then down between her legs, where he pulled off her panties and put his tongue and lips to her. She came shuddering beneath him, still quiet but with her entire body humming as if with electricity, turning into something melted and hot under his hands.

While her fingers stroked him, sure and strong, he looked down at her and she was watching him intently with that curve of a half-smile, enjoying the effect she had on him. Still working on him with her other hand, she opened the condom wrapper with one hand and her teeth. His fingers clenched into the sheet as she took him into her mouth.

When he finally slid into her, her knees bent at either side of his hips, that was when she did more than just whimper. He slowed his rhythm, waiting for her to reach the edge with him, and her wordless shout mingled with his as they came.

*~*~*

Hailey propped herself up on one elbow, lying on her side facing him with the sheet wrapped around them. "Thanks," she said. "That was fun."

His hand rested on the curve of her waist. "Yeah, me too."

She reached out and took his amulet in her fingers, turning it, not meeting his eyes. "You don't have to stay, Dean. I'm flying back home early tomorrow."

The tiny knot of disappointment in his gut startled him. He leaned in, kissed her, and said, the words lost against her mouth, "Wouldn't mind staying."

She dropped the amulet and her hand rested warm against his chest. "I'm glad."

"So why are you here?" His hand trailed down from her waist to her thigh.

"Maybe I do like you, a little." The half-smile turned into a full one.

"I meant, what are you doing _here_." Dean stopped his hand while he waited for her answer, his palm resting against the warmth of her body.

Tilting her head back, Hailey let out a breath that stirred the hair around her face. "Oh. Vacation. Enforced. Ben's idea. He told me I had to go find out who I was on my own or something nuts like that."

Dean could hear Sam's angry young voice, just starting to break, _someday I have to get out Dean, I have to, I need to know who I am on my own..._

"Is it working?"

"I'm the same person I thought I was in Colorado."

Dean's hand continued its journey down her thigh, between her legs over the sheet. When she began to breathe faster, he tugged at her bent arm, making her fall back against the pillow, then pulled her closer to him. He tugged the sheet aside, slid two fingers into her while he stroked her with his thumb, curious if he could make her shout just by doing that.

Turned out he could.

*~*~*

Then there was the part he wasn't sure about.

"Say hi to Sam for me," she said, leaning down from the bed and handing him his blue jeans.

Dean finished putting on his clothes and sat down on the bed beside her. "You bet. Tell Tommy and Ben me and Sam said hello."

She tucked the sheet up against her protectively, her knees up to her chest. "I haven't heard from Tommy in six weeks. Oh, no, he's okay," she added quickly when she saw his face. "He emails Ben. But not me. Before he left for Greece we had a fight. But I'll give Ben your message to pass on."

"Hailey..."

"It was a stupid fight. I thought he could study as well at UC Boulder, but he wanted to see the world or some dumb shit like that. I, uh..." Her fingers twisted into the sheet. "I said some things I regret."

Letting out the breath he'd been holding, Dean leaned down and brushed his lips against the swirl of her ear. She turned so her mouth met his, then pushed him away.

"Dean. Go. It's late and I have to get up early to catch my flight. Maybe I'll see you around someday." There was the little half-smile again; her voice was flat, not a question, and almost a dare.

 _Oh, sweetheart, I sure hope so._

Nine more months with Hell waiting for him at the end of the road.

"Someday, maybe," he said. He paused with his hand on the old-fashioned, polished door latch. "He'll forgive you."

And then he left, the taste of her lingering on his tongue.

~end


End file.
